


The Ghost In The Machine

by THA_THUMPP



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Chair Bondage, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Mentions of Revelations 2, Oops, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Psychological Torture, Sibling Rivalry, The worst kind with two Weskers, and Chris is caught right in the middle, franz kafka - Freeform, in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Redfield gains cognitive access to the System Simulation, Red Queen Alpha, the B.S.A.A.'s North American S.O.U. recovered from the island after Alex Wesker's demise, who is now a known name to him, but no face. Little does Chris know is that she input a special strand of code <em>just</em> for him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost In The Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this short story is happening because Raid Mode is so GD addicting. We've literally logged 80+ hours into it already. Though, in truth, half of that time was probably spent evading each other in the Vestibule when co-oping online as Wesker and Chris while listening to various remixes and performing gestures, specifically Yippee Ki Yay and Hip-Hop Dance, behind one another...
> 
> Yeeeeeah, don't judge. Just enjoy this madness. :P

❝Do you know, darling? When you became involved with others you quite possibly stepped down  
a level or two, but if you become involved with me, you will be throwing yourself into the abyss.❞  
_-Franz Kafka_  
▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

When the B.S.A.A. approached Chris Redfield and told him that he could be the first agent to access the machine the S.O.U. recovered from the existing island sited somewhere in the Baltic Sea, he wanted to be honored. When one of the many labs at the headquarters of the North American Branch had the technology reinstated and back online within the following week, he wanted to be excited. But when the details about who it’d been salvaged from were finally disclosed, more than anything he wanted to ask how the hell that was even _possible_.

Wesker.

It was a resurrected surname Chris never thought would see the light of day again, from the gossiping mouths of his coworkers or in his wildest dreams. Looking past the fact that it had a different forename attached to it, all this _Alex_ person sounded like to him was another _Albert_. The relation alone was reason enough for Chris to grit his teeth in hate, but that didn’t mean he declined the proposal. Considering how it was an opportunity for answers, he took it even if it made him feel like he was being consigned as the B.S.A.A.’s guinea pig.

An expendable test subject.

With all the later talk about how scientists and technicians alike couldn’t make heads or tails of the equipment even after laying eyes on it and rebooting the system, Chris figured they needed one and because of his history with bioterrorism he thought he was the best candidate for the job. What he didn’t foresee though, was that cognitive access seemed to be the only gateway into the mind of the machine. But given how it had previously belonged to a Wesker _of course_ it had to be complicated.

Chris knew that more than anyone, just as he knew of the risks that followed his subjection to the tools of war, the incertitude and the fabrication of guarantees, but at the same time he didn’t care.

_I said yes because it’s my job to protect the world from scum terrorists like Wesker. Even with him gone, there’s always gonna be another lunatic waiting in line to take his place._

Having lived through multiple events based on that logic, Chris could account for the truth behind it and it made him sick when remembering that this was the way the world spun now, round and round like an incessant food chain of madmen and their farfetched ideology. He wouldn’t even pretend to understand such insanity, but even after he finally opened his eyes to find himself standing amidst an endless stretch of stygian space all he saw was a reminder of such evil.

The darkness.

It didn’t have an identity other than what it represented, an abyss as black as where the sun couldn’t reach, but within it his body felt small, his limbs weightless, and his path lost, like the world around could easily open up beneath him and swallow him whole. It was a sensation that prickled the layers of his subconscious with questions about his whereabouts, but while he didn’t know exactly _where_ he was in time, he did know that _this_ was where he was supposed to be.

Here. Mentally inside a machine.

Chris was still trying to process the physics of what he was experiencing when he eventually took his first, cautious step forward, but as the sound of a piano being played began filtering into the thick, tyrannical hush of his surroundings his focus reluctantly switched. The music became his guide and he walked left, towards where he thought it was coming from. He wasn’t sure of the exact direction, or of the unfamiliar melody of the piece, but by resonance the tune was lachrymose in itself, ringing like a requiem all around him.

Before him. Behind him. On top of him and below him.

Within a matter of seconds and more steps, the musical score was everywhere, each note louder and linked to the last with meticulous poise without pause. It filled Chris with the notion that every key touched had a sad memory of its own to tell, a history or untold story, particularly when whoever was in performance kept a steady climb on the scale and then dropped to a lower chord as if to hold on to that impression of melancholy.

Grievance.

Chris felt like he could relate to the feeling as he continued to try and find the source of the composition by ear, but he didn’t want to make the connection as to what he was mournful of, or specifically _whom_. He had a few assumptions already on the tip of his tongue and in the depression of his heart, but he dared not speak any of them by name. His ghosts were better off left in the past, out of sight and out of mind. Like that, they couldn’t harm him… or so he thought.

As if to contradict his resolve, the playing of the piano stopped abruptly and the pitch blackness around Chris suddenly snapped from its once dark state to a brilliant white, in one, raucous clack, like a breaker had been flipped somewhere he couldn’t see. He cringed through a growl and braced his forearm across his eyes, which had already clamped shut at the unbearable radiance. He tried to open them again after a beat, but no matter how short the intervals were in between his blinks the despotic glare of the surrounding space was still too great.

Like a flash grenade, the light left Chris groveling on his feet where he stood, hunched and shaking his head from side to side as if the motion alone could clear the blindness afflicting his sight. It did little to help, and there was a split second when he considered keeping them closed for a while longer to adjust, but that was before he was startled by a woman’s voice.

_“Welcome, stranger!”_

The greeting was dauntless, mettlesome in modulation of expression, and seemed to resound throughout the air like the musical score before it, and Chris set his jaw, forced his eyes open, and shot his head up to find the owner of it. He was as successful as his mending vision allowed, but since he was wholly under the impression that he was sent into the machine alone he was still shocked when he actually spotted _her_ – a woman of eloquent stature standing quite genteelly in the center of what looked like the insides of a white box with no end.

In appearance, she didn’t appear all that intimidating in her height or how she had her arms crossed tightly across the front of her white suit and a sultry smirk upon her ruby lips, but Chris’ hand automatically dropped to his thigh where he forgot his handgun unfortunately wasn’t. He’d been stripped of everything for the simulation, his vest and his gear, before his mind was put under. The only possessions he had on him were in view of his self-image, his khaki cargo pants and his short-sleeved combat t-shirt that brought out the sharp contours of his chest. But even as dressed as he was, ready for war, he didn’t feel any less on edge… or safer.

“Who’re you?” Chris withdrew his hand from where his holster used to be as he fully turned to face the woman, who hadn’t moved a muscle since appearing before him like an apparition.

“Oh?” The woman snided as she checked Chris out, her fair brows barely lifting a millimeter in interest of what she was seeing, maybe even hearing. “They didn’t tell you?”

The intonation of her question sounded like a self-possessed form of coercion as she began to move closer, and Chris’ back immediately went rigid at the stern expression of her face. He wouldn’t have guessed from far away, but up close she looked like the type of woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty with the way she held her head high and turned up her nose against everything beneath her scarlet shoes, like she was better than the floor she walked on.

Strangely enough, her mannerism reminded him of someone he once knew, but as she stopped in front of him and ran a hand overtop the lock of golden hair she had prearranged over her right shoulder all of his attention was directed away from her resemblance and towards her eyes instead. They were blue like his had once been, but the middle of her irises were as aged as the obsidian necklace decorating her neck, seemingly telling a darker story than the black polish staining her nails. As for what that story was, Chris didn’t know anything about her, which seemed to be the complete opposite of her knowledge.

“So, they thought they’d send in one of their top operatives to snoop around, did they? Mr. Redfield—” The woman cut herself off like she was using the wrong information before she rested a finger to her bottom lip in a gesture of contemplation. “Or should I call you _Chris_?” She asked as she started to circle around him in observation, like he was in a tank and she was the shark. “Yes, you’d like that _much better_ , wouldn’t you?”

“How do you—”

“Know your name?” She rolled her eyes at how cliché his response was as she finished her inspection of him and eased to another stop. “It’s not rocket science, that’s for sure.”

The woman bent her arm and snapped her fingers at the exact moment Chris blinked and by the time his eyes opened again, having only closed them for less than a second, there was a manila folder in her hand like a cheap magic trick. Judging from her bemused expression she clearly didn’t see her ability of manipulation in the same anonymity as him, and Chris watched mutely as she folded the file open, singlehandedly and with litheness grace. But even after the contents inside were exposed, she didn’t glance at them once.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Redfield. It’s an honor.” She quoted rather apathetically, like she already had the whole report memorized by heart. “Just Chris, thanks.” She closed the file soon after and let it go like a leaf to the wind, and this time Chris saw it dematerialize into data and disappear into thin air like it was never there to begin with. “And boy, does it precede you!”

The woman opened her arms contemptuously, as if she was addressing the whole room as him, and Chris felt his forehead furrow at the realization of why those two lines sounded familiar.

That was… a word for word memory of his introduction to Sheva when he first arrived in Kijuju. Earlier, as it was being said, it was hard to pinpoint the allusion because of how the woman spoke in her own European-influenced tone of voice, but as Chris reiterated the phrase to himself the more he could vividly hear his former partner’s Swahili accent in its place, which was impossible because that welcome was only ever exchanged between the two of them. No one else.

“How the hell—”

“Did I get that on record? _Wow_ , Chris.” The woman huffed as she put her hands on her hips like she was accentuating her figure of dominance. “You may be cute, but boy, are you slow.”

“Cut the crap lady and just tell me what this is!”

This _game_. Chris knew one when he saw it and he felt his neck burn red at the belittlement. This woman seemed to be all about them with how she was constantly leading him on and he needed it to stop because he was here for answers, not for more questions, and definitely not for confrontation, which was all their conversations succeeded in bringing about. Including this one.

“ _Lady_? Please!” The woman sounded rather disgusted by Chris’ uncreative heckling and easement to anger. “Enough with the song and dance already. Just call me Wesker. It’ll make things easier.”

“Wha— _Wesker_?” Chris curled his upper lip in ambivalence of the name, at what it once meant to him and what it should’ve meant now had he been briefed about gender before entering the machine. “… _Alex_ Wesker?”

“Bingo!” Alex let out a sharp laugh and in that moment she actually sounded more like his ex-captain with how pleased she was acting now that the truth was out, more so when Chris’ face furrowed like she’d just pinched a nerve. “Now I can see why my brother likes… or rather _liked_ you.” She paused to admire how Chris’ body stiffened at the mention of affection, which in turn softened her features and sobered her voice. “Relax, Chris. If you must know what you’ve stumbled upon I’ll tell you. This here… is my baby, the Red Queen Alpha.”

Alex brought her hands outward in a presentation of the area around them, watching barefacedly as Chris followed her movement with fierce eyes.

“When I was still alive and kicking I transferred a fragment of my consciousness into this machine as a security measure, so that whoever tried to access it would have to prove themselves _worthy_ of acquiring my life’s research.” Alex chuckled at her own memory and twisted sharply on the thin heels of her scarlet shoes before motioning at herself like she was of royal blood and deserved to be honored. “One, small strand of data and now look at it. Well, _me_.”

Chris was looking, but he wasn’t liking what he was seeing… or hearing. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with how much resentment he’d been trying to hold back for the past minute as he listened to her talk and over time he’d subconsciously clenched his fists by his sides, tight enough for his nails to dig into his palms and send droplets of his blood to the white floor. But even then he didn’t really feel that he was bleeding. He was more or less wrapped up in wondering why the delusions of godhood had to run in the damn family, and how her middling remark about the merit and value of people made it sound like sacrifice meant nothing to her but data.

It didn’t matter to Chris that she was just an A.I. now, it still didn’t make her views excusable or original, and he reacted to her comment as he would in the face of flesh and blood. With human emotion.

“…Worthy? Who the hell gives you that right to judge the _worth_ of others!” Chris yelled, feeling his blood boil past the point of ethics because as far as a new face went her words were old news to him. They instantly drew his mind to the past, overriding it with everything he went through with Wesker up until the end in Africa, and with that hate directing him Chris didn’t see Alex as just a woman – he saw her as an enemy and after taking a wide step forward he threw the most powerful haymaker he could muster.

Except to his complete and utter surprise, even with the valor of his entire body behind the attack, his fist didn’t land.

Alex simply caught it like it was a softball thrown by a child, with no real effort at all, and pulled him closer by the wrist as if to let him revel in her reflexes. The mole on the left side of her face twitched with her cheek as he tried to get his muscles to strain with resistance, but Chris’ struggle was to no reward and once he realized that there was no escaping her grasp Alex smiled a true smile. It was spontaneous, a malevolent expression when it peeled her lips this time, like she no longer had a need to bluff, and with a speed matching Wesker’s at Spencer’s European Estate, she let go of his fist and crunched her fingers into his pressure point.

Chris instantaneously felt the neurons between his shoulder and neck numb at the inhuman strength, and he growled as he was easily forced below her waist and into a chair now conveniently beneath him. He wasn’t even fully seated before shackles rose up from the floor like serpents from hell and clamped down around his wrists and ankles, but even as his squirms were restricted to snarls Alex still refused to let him go once he was secure. She merely stood still like she was readying herself for her next move and looked upon him in adoration.

“That right to judge, huh?” Alex repeated Chris’ initial question as her face began rippling like she had Uroboros under her skin.

Chris tried to pull away, but it was useless with how she still had a solid grip on him, and he was forced to stare up at her in revulsion as her entire body began transforming next, even her clothes. He felt her hand get stronger on his shoulder and he watched as her suit distorted from its stark color of white to a better shade blacker than midnight, but in the end he didn’t know what he was bearing witness to until there was nothing left of her to call Alex and she was standing before him as another person entirely – someone he never wanted to see or hear again.

“Being a god inside this system, my darling Chris…” Albert Wesker jeered down at Chris with a smirk as real to him as the pain he was feeling. “…automatically gives me _that_ _right_.”

**Author's Note:**

> OH NO! It's Wesker! Stay tuned for mental torture and man vs god smut in the next chapter. And, as always, thanks for reading! :))


End file.
